Rule of Vampire

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bend, Oregon, was becoming a city—or so the residents told themselves. But to Terrill, it was still a quaint little town. It wasn’t so big that he could fail to notice the three black Cadillac Escalades that had begun following him around. They had windows with just enough tinting to allow a vampire to survive in the daylight.

But why would they be following him? As far as he knew, Horsham had been his last enemy, and Horsham was gone forever: finally and most definitely gone.

Terrill sighed. He’d been enjoying himself for the first time in ages. Sylvie really seemed to like him, though neither of them was brave enough to use the word “love” just yet. The word had almost slipped out of him a couple of times as they luxuriated on the grass in the afternoon sun, holding hands, her head on his chest where the silver cross was fused to his skin.

The wounds had healed around the cross, and it was simply part of him now. Occasionally, Father Harry would ask him to stand up and show his cross to the congregation, as if he was a prize bull. The congregation liked Father Harry enough that they were overlooking his increasingly bizarre sermons about demons and hellfire. After all, Father Harry was a bit of a miracle himself, as he’d been shot in the belly but survived the c*****e that that maniac Horsham had inflicted on the police station.

The townsfolk accepted Terrill as an odd but likeable eccentric. He volunteered at the Catholic soup kitchen most days and had become a trusted friend and confidant to many of the homeless. Crazy or addled or drug addicted, it didn’t matter: he embraced them all.

He was loving life. Because it was life. He was alive, his heart was beating, and who would’ve ever thought that would happen? When the sun beat down on his head, at worst, it gave him a sunburn. He sometimes missed his old strength and speed, but he didn’t need it. He certainly didn’t need his ability to see in the dark, because most nights he was home in bed, with Sylvie.

He’d once been vampire, but no more. He was immortal no longer. He could die tomorrow, and it didn’t bother him in the least. He was content.

So why were they following him?

Terrill approached one of the Escalades at a stoplight, but the SUV sped away. Well, that’s fair, he thought. Throwing open the door wouldn’t have been healthy for the vampires inside. He’d wait until evening and see if they’d talk to him then.

He walked home most days. St. Francis, one of local Catholic churches, was downtown, and he and Sylvie had settled in a home on the west side. It was an outrageously expensive house for being so tiny, and it was a long stretch to call it a Craftsman-style cottage, but Sylvie loved it and that’s all that mattered to him. Terrill was wealthy beyond anyone’s imaginings—but even Sylvie only had clues about that.

He was ready to give all that wealth away. He was just trying to figure out how to go about it. Turned out that giving away money effectively was almost as complicated as earning it in the first place—not that he’d really had to work at it. Time had been on his side. “Compound interest is a vampire’s best friend” was the phrase that was often used, and Terrill believed he’d probably coined it himself, long ago, so long ago that he could barely remember it.

His memory of the long, bloody centuries was fading, thankfully. He was feeling more the age of his human body, in his mid-thirties, tall, lanky and dark, and slowly gaining a potbelly from all the home-cooked meals. He’d noticed his first genuine gray hair a few weeks ago, and wrinkles and spots were appearing in strange places for no apparent reason.

Sylvie was slowly teaching him modern ways. She was barely old enough to drink, though her working life had mostly been spent in one brewpub or bar after another. Her hair was glossy black and thick and curling, her eyes were wide and dark, her nose was long and narrow, and when you took her in parts, she should have been ugly, but she was gorgeous in an oddly put-together way.

She greeted him at the door, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she’d been thinking about her sister and that she was going to ask him The Question. One thing about Sylvie: you never had to wait for her to get to the point.

“Have you found Jamie yet?” she said without preamble.

He wasn’t sure why she had such faith in him, faith that he could find her sister. Jamie was a vampire and he’d once been a vampire, and that was connection enough for Sylvie. But even more importantly, he was Jamie’s Maker. And it was true that he could probably guess some of her moves: she’d go somewhere that was mostly cloudy and overcast, she’d want to blend in, and she probably wouldn’t have taken public transportation, so she couldn’t have gone far.

Of course, she could’ve stolen a car and be all the way across the country for all Terrill knew, but he sensed that she was near—probably in Oregon or one of the neighboring states. She was a baby vampire, without a mentor, and she’d want to stay close to home.

But his real ace in the hole was his connection to the street people who passed through town. They had a tendency to keep moving and to be aware of all the hiding places. They went unnoticed and yet were everywhere, observing everything.

Grime had mumbled something about “I…ge…er…,” which Terrill had translated as “I’ll get her.” And that was good enough for Terrill.

Meanwhile, old Perry had made it his job to ask every transient who passed through St. Francis about Jamie, and they answered him when they wouldn’t have answered Terrill or Father Harry. No matter how much the two of them were respected, they weren’t of the brotherhood. Perry was a lifelong hobo and knew everyone.

Jamie’s looks—red-haired, freckled, and gorgeous—were unusual enough that Terrill thought there was at least a chance she’d be noticed, especially if she was trying to hole up in less-reputable places – and she was probably going to gravitate toward many of the same places where the homeless congregated.

Terrill snapped out of his reverie, aware that Sylvie was staring at him, waiting for his answer. “Not yet,” he told her. “The last time anyone saw her, she was heading south, so I’ve been asking a lot of questions about areas to the south of us. I don’t think she’d go too far south, though, because she’ll want to stay in the shade.”

“Let’s go,” Sylvie said. “We’ll head down Highway 97. Stop in all the little towns. Ask around.”

Terrill nearly laughed. Finding a vampire in the dark was nearly impossible even when you knew she was there! But he just shook his head. “Let’s wait until we get a sighting.”

“Harrumph,” Sylvie snorted, and walked off to the kitchen to prepare dinner—which was about the best response Terrill could have expected.

He went to the picture window and pulled aside the curtains. A black Escalade sat in front of his house, as if inviting him to come out.

So he went.